Loving Danny Read Free Page B

girlfriend, or a string of beautiful girlfriends. I was angry with myself for reading so much
into nothing. How had my life become so mundane, so empty, that a momentary encounter with an attractive guy could make me fantasise about a future together?
    I excused myself from the table and went back upstairs, leaving Emily to help with the washing-up. There were at least three hours to fill before bedtime. It was strange how long the evenings
seemed now; last year, with homework to complete and friends to see, I’d felt I never had enough time. It was as if I’d been running on a treadmill that had suddenly stopped, sending me
flying aimlessly. Maybe, it now occurred to me, I hadn’t been as in control of my life as I’d believed. All my agendas, all my goals, had been set by school or by my friends. My social
life had been handed to me on a plate. I had never had to be proactive. But if I was going to get through the next year I’d have to take risks, find things I enjoyed, and force myself to go
out and be more independent. The only problem was I didn’t know where to start.
    There was nothing on TV, so I decided to listen to some music. I put on my favourite CD, a compilation that an ex-boyfriend, Mark, had made for me in the summer after our GCSEs. It was an
eclectic mixture of songs that he’d downloaded or copied from his own collection: contemporary guitar bands plus some 1960s folk, 80s pop and 90s dance music. Unfortunately for Mark,
I’d enjoyed listening to his CD far more than spending time with him.
    For about an hour, I lay on my bed with my eyes closed. Downstairs, my family were going about their routines. Emily had popped out to a friend’s house. Dad was in his study, doing
paperwork. Mum was giving a piano lesson to a neighbour’s very unmusical child. The cacophonous notes kept bleeding through the ceiling, jarring with the melodies on my CD. Mum must have been
seething with frustration; she was such a perfectionist, especially when it came to music. At least she was busy. It seemed that everyone else had something to do, a purpose. Everyone except
me.
    Shut up, Naomi.
I had to stop feeling sorry for myself – it wasn’t an appealing trait and I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere. I sat up and gazed at the photo on my
bedside table. It showed me, Debbie, Natasha and Holly, all grinning broadly, our arms wrapped around each other. Funny to think it had only been taken a few months before. We were inseparable.
Now, Debbie was in Manchester, Natasha in New York, and as for Holly, who knew? Her last e-mail, which I’d received a month before, had come from Sydney. In it she said she had met a guy and
was planning to travel to Indonesia with him.
    Debbie hadn’t called me for a few days. When she’d left for Manchester we agreed that we’d take it in turns to phone each other on alternate nights, but it hadn’t worked
out that way. We were on such different schedules, she might as well have been on the other side of the world too. I was up at seven a.m., she rarely went to bed before three or four. I had to be
asleep by eleven, not long after she’d gone out for the night. She got up during my lunch hour.
    Although strictly it was Debbie’s turn to ring, I wanted to talk to her that minute. It was nine o’clock; she might still be in her room. I took my mobile out of my bag and dialled.
I didn’t even have to look what I was doing – she was number one on speed-dial.
    Her phone rang at least ten times before she picked up. ‘Naomi, hi!’ There was so much background noise, I could hardly hear her. ‘I’m in the Union bar. Hold on a
sec.’ I heard her apologising to someone, then the background noise subsided and she came back on the line.
    ‘Sorry, just had to go outside. What are you up to?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh, you know, this and that.’ I tried to hide how world-weary I felt. ‘What about you?’
    She sounded excited. ‘I’m just having a few drinks in the Union,